The streetlights blurred together in an endless parade of identical yellow pools, each one mocking my complete inability to navigate this damn city even after a week. I'd been wandering for forty minutes now, the junkyard training session long behind me, and I was no closer to finding my way home than when I'd started.
Left at the convenience store, right at the shrine, straight until you hit the main road.
Simple directions. A child could follow them. Yet here I was, standing at what had to be the fourth identical convenience store I'd passed, each one apparently existing in some parallel dimension where basic geography ceased to function.
"This is pathetic," I muttered, checking my phone for the dozenth time. The battery icon glowed an accusatory red. Of course. Because why would anything be easy?
My Quirk had sharpened in the past week; ricochet shots were now second nature. I could map the geometry of a battlefield in a heartbeat. But none of that tactical precision helped with actual geography.
My accuracy with a charged coin was useless if I couldn't even find the right damn street.
I turned down what looked like a promising side street, hoping it would connect to something I recognized. The buildings here were older, more cramped together, with narrow alleys snaking between them like dark arteries. Neon signs buzzed overhead, advertising everything from ramen shops to questionable massage parlors.
Great. I've wandered into the sketchy part of town. Kimiko's going to kill me if I'm not home soon.
That's when I heard it. A sharp, terrified scream that cut through the ambient noise of the city like a blade.
Every city has its dark corners where stupid people make stupid decisions. The smart play is to walk on by. There's no percentage in getting involved in someone else's bad beat.
But my feet, the traitors, were already carrying me toward the sound. I pressed myself against the brick wall at the mouth of the alley and peered around the corner.
The scene was depressingly familiar, even if the setting wasn't. A woman in a business suit—probably in her thirties, with short brown hair and a briefcase clutched protectively against her chest—was backed against a chain-link fence. Standing between her and the alley's exit was a walking mountain of muscle and bad decisions.
The thug had to be six and a half feet tall, with arms like tree trunks and a neck that seemed to have been replaced by additional shoulder. His Quirk was obvious even from a distance—his muscles were swollen beyond human proportions, veins bulging under skin that looked ready to split. A classic strength enhancer, the kind of low-rent villain who thought bigger automatically meant better.
"Just give me the briefcase, lady," he rumbled, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
The woman shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Please, I can't. These are important documents for my company. I'll lose my job if—"
"Your job?" The thug laughed, a sound like breaking concrete. "Lady, you're gonna lose a lot more than your job if you don't hand that thing over."
He raised one massive fist, and I could see the woman's face crumple in terror. The same raw, helpless fear I'd seen on the faces of people who'd crossed the wrong men back in my old life. The expression of someone who knew they were about to get hurt and couldn't do anything to stop it.
Walk away, the voice of my past life whispered. Not your fight. Not your problem. There's no payout here. Nothing but risk and pain and complications you don't need.
I started to turn, to slip back into the main street and find my way home. Let the heroes handle it. That's what they were for, right?
But then the familiar thrum started under my skin. The sensation of my Quirk responding to my emotional state, energy building in my fingertips like electricity seeking ground. A loaded gun begging to be fired.
And I realized something that made me pause.
I want to use it.
Not because I was some noble hero-in-training. Not because I had some burning desire to save the innocent. But because I'd spent the last week practicing on empty cans and scrap metal, and part of me was genuinely curious to see what would happen when I used my power on something that could fight back.
The thug took a step closer to the woman, his enhanced muscles rippling under his shirt. "Last chance, lady. Hand it over, or I take it from what's left of you."
I sighed, pushed myself off the wall, and strolled into the alley like I was walking into a casino bar. The woman's eyes widened when she saw me, hope and confusion warring across her features. The thug turned, his massive frame blocking most of the alley's width.
"Hey, kid," he growled. "This ain't your business. Walk away while you still can."
I leaned against the brick wall, the picture of casual indifference, and pulled a hundred-yen coin from my pocket. I let it catch the dim light from the street lamp, rolling it across my knuckles in a little display that had impressed more than one mark back in my gambling days.
"You know," I said, my voice carrying that cool drawl I'd perfected over years of high-stakes poker games, "if you're going to threaten a lady, you could at least have a little more class about it."
The thug blinked, clearly not expecting this response. "What?"
"I mean, look at yourself." I gestured at his swollen form with the coin still dancing between my fingers. "You're what, six-six? Two-fifty? Enhanced strength Quirk that probably puts you in the small building-damage category. And you're using all that power to shake down some office worker for her briefcase?"
The woman pressed herself harder against the fence, smart enough to stay quiet but not smart enough to run while the thug's attention was on me.
"It's just..." I shook my head, as if genuinely disappointed. "It's amateur hour. Where's the style? Where's the artistry? You might as well be mugging old ladies for their purse change."
The thug's face darkened, his enhanced muscles swelling even larger as his anger spiked. "You got a death wish, kid?"
"Not particularly." I let the coin rest on my fingertip, balancing it there while a subtle purple glow began to build beneath its surface. "But I do have standards. And right now, you're failing to meet them pretty spectacularly."
He took a step toward me, his massive fists clenching. "I'm gonna enjoy breaking you, smart mouth."
"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about." The charge in the coin was building steadily, invisible in the dim light but thrumming against my skin like a tuning fork. "No creativity. No flair. Just 'I'm gonna break you.' Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that exact line?"